


Into the Heart of the Storm

by Arcaniel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Complete, Fantasy, First Time, M/M, Romance, Soldiers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcaniel/pseuds/Arcaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Lorcan rescues his admired general's life and gets a wish as reward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

The white and silver banners of Idris stood proudly against the violet and red tones of a dusky sky. It had been a fierce battle, lasting for days, but at last the army of Idris had won. The surviving soldiers of Elatha had sunk to their knees and let go of their swords, axes, and lances in defeat as the sun was about to vanish behind the horizon.

Lorcan, captain of the 8th Idrisan infantry unit, trudged over the bloodied grass of the hills that had become a battlefield, looking for wounded subordinates. Although a fierce joy filled his heart at the prospect of having taken part in the victory of his country, the losses had been great. Already he had found thirteen men of his unit with unseeing eyes and fatal wounds in their chests and bellies.

Here and there lay a surviving enemy soldier, and Lorcan paused to tell him that he would be taken care of. Queen Gweneira of Idris had all her soldiers take a solemn oath never to harm a defenceless man, and she would appreciate the prisoners for bargaining with the king of Elatha.

Lorcan sighed, stepping over another fallen soldier and looking up at the beautiful evening sky. He was tired after the long fight, so naturally his musings gravitated to a more pleasant subject than the death surrounding him.

Automatically, the captain's thoughts drifted from his noble and brave queen to her youngest son. Prince Aileas was the leader of the Idrisan army and had been the deciding factor in this battle. His valor and wise tactics had brought them to victory many times before as well.

Ever since he had seen the prince two years ago for the first time, Lorcan had been captivated. Queen Gweneira's youngest son had just turned twenty, taking command over the army from his older brother, who had been seriously wounded and would never be able to fight again. The prince had called for a muster to speak to his men for the first time, and the captain clearly remembered how the sunlight had gleamed on the blood-red hair, the shimmering silver armor and the white coat bearing the silver crest of Idris. On his snowy white horse, the prince had looked like a demigod out of legends.

Of course there had been doubts whether such a young and inexperienced man could lead an army, but a few weeks later there had been an attack from invading northern tribes in league with Elatha. The prince had ridden in the front line, his sword cutting through his enemies like lightning. Without hesitation, he had taken on the enemy tribe leader, a bear of a man, twice his size, and defeated him in a whirlwind of white and silver, all the while ignoring his own grave injury.

Since then, Prince Aileas had never been called by his name or title again. Friend and foe alike reverently spoke of him from that day on as General Whitestorm.

Lorcan crouched down next to another fallen soldier. It was a very young man who had joined his unit just a few weeks ago. The captain remembered him proudly telling the others about his betrothed back at his home village.

"May your soul find rest in the halls of the gods," he murmured, closing the soulless eyes and praying that he wouldn't find any more familiar faces among the dead today.

A noise made Lorcan look up. There were other men scouting the hills for survivors, of course, but none of them where near him. It was the distinguished drumming of hooves on the wet grass, he realized, and seconds later a familiar white stallion came into sight. General Whitestorm's formerly spotless armor and coat was now splattered with blood, and even the horse had bloody hooves as if it had trampled down some enemies. Lorcan had no doubt the fierce stallion had taken down some Elathan soldiers all by himself.

The captain got up to bow to his general when the horse halted only a few steps in front of him. He had never come near the general in all these two years, only admiring him from afar during muster. Now was his chance to look into the face that had been a blur until now.

His breath caught in his throat. Rumor had it General Whitestorm had inherited the famous beauty of his mother, the queen, but since Lorcan had never seen the queen either, he couldn't tell. All he knew now was that he had never seen a more stunning vision than the one appearing before him against the sunset.

The skin was fair as marble, its perfection only marred by a white patch covering the general's right eye. He had lost it in his first great battle against the savage tribe leader. Red, slightly ruffled hair that resembled flames, framed his fine-boned face to his shoulders. A single silver strand ran through it where the scar, starting from the eye, ran into his hairline.

It was the visible eye, however, that was the most captivating feature. The clear, translucent gray reminded Lorcan of the frozen surface of a winter lake:calm, cool and assessing, seemingly unmoved by the surroundings.

Lorcan was so enthralled that he almost didn't notice the figure rising from a pile of fallen enemy soldiers behind the general. A blood-stained spear was raised and aimed.

There was no time to think. The captain mobilized all his remaining strength, bridging the close distance and pulling the general out of the saddle. A moment later the horse went down with a shriek as the spear hit it in the flank.

Soft, fragrant hair brushed across Lorcan's face for a moment, but within seconds General Whitestorm was on his feet again, unsheathing his sword to slay the enemy. The attacker pulled out a sword, but was no match for the general. More blood splattered on the silver armor, matching the color of his hair.

Lorcan pulled himself up to look after the stallion. The animal whinnied in pain, laying on its side, and Lorcan stroked the neck to calm it. In all his years as a soldier he had seen similar wounds, and half of the horses survived, some of them even without a limp.

Suddenly, a gloved hand joined his own on the horse's neck. The general had knelt down beside Lorcan.

"We have to get him up to take him back to the camp." General Whitestorm's voice was calm and cool, but as Lorcan turned his head to look at the profile that was still perfect from the left side, he saw something flickering in the steely eye.

Had it been there before? Or was the general actually more concerned for his horse than for his men?

Without answering, the captain got up. "Try to calm him, Sire. I'll break off the spear. If I pull it out altogether, he might bleed to death on the spot."

Like those hundreds of men on the hills, Idrisans and Elathans alike. Sometimes Lorcan wondered why he was still in the army. But the answer was simple: he had nowhere else to go since he had no family left.

The general proceeded to pet his horse, and it stayed remarkably still when Lorcan broke off the rest of the spear. Then they tried to get the animal back on his hooves.  It was limping and still making pained noises, but the general was able to lead it off to the camp. Lorcan accompanied them, making sure the general wasn't attacked again.

But they reached the camp without further interruptions. The general went straight to the makeshift stables and called for a healer to look after his horse, and Lorcan decided to look after his injured men at the hospital tent. Although he had seen enough death and pain for one day, he owed it to the soldiers.

 

Two days later, the war between Idris and Elatha was declared officially over.  Princess Ynyra, Gweneira's second daughter, was sent to the Elathan king as ambassador to negotiate a peace treaty. The queen had no intention of occupying Elatha but wished to form a steady alliance. Things looked good; in fact, they looked better than ever. Elatha had been attacking Idris for a decade now, and everyone was thrilled at the prospect of peace.

Lorcan had been busy reorganising his unit, encouraging his wounded men to get better soon, and writing letters to the families of the fallen. This had been the hardest duty since he had been promoted to captain three years ago at the still young age of twenty-five. 

Of course, he hadn't forgotten the incident with the general, but since then he had tried to ban the memory from his mind.  And he was not at liberty to think uncouth thoughts whenever he remembered the bittersweet smell of General Whitestorm's hair brushing his face for a moment. Like blood and roses... Instead, he should just be proud of rescuing his commanding officer. But all the captain could feel was an odd longing that had intensified a hundredfold in the instant he had seen the general's face.

So foolish. 

Lorcan had just finished the final letter when a soldier called him from outside his tent. He got up from his folding stool and exited the tent.

"What is it?" he asked the young soldier.

"Captain, a message from the general. He wants to speak with you."

Lorcan's heart did a leap. "Did he say about what?"

"No, Captain. You are to report to him immediately."

A direct command had to be obeyed, so Lorcan just nodded and crossed the camp to reach the general's tent. It was located right at the center and was the biggest since it was used as a council room as well. The guard at the entrance saluted him and let him through.

A large round table stood in the middle, littered with maps and letters. On the opposite side, another canvas cover separated a private area. Everything was functional and plain, like any other tent in the camp.

Lorcan had never been here before. He reported to his commander like all the other captains, and the six commanders reported to the general. Him being invited here only meant a serious issue would be discussed. And he bet his own horse it had something to do with the incident two days ago.

Fortunately, he didn't have to mull over it long. General Whitestorm entered the council room from his private quarters. He wasn't wearing his armor, but a simple tunic and breeches, both in a light gray.  He looked much more slender like this.  His hair, now brushed back from his face and braided, accented the fineness of his features, but also his eye patch.

"Captain Lorcan," the general greeted him.

Lorcan bowed deeply. "Sire. You called?"

"Yes. There is something I wish to discuss with you," General Whitestorm said.  "It is no official matter, rather a personal one."

The captain looked up, puzzled. "Sire?"

"You saved my life," the general reminded him. "It is an officer's duty to protect his superior officer in battle, but these were different circumstances since the actual fight  was over. The attempt on my life was insidious and dishonourable, and I wasn't prepared."

General Whitestorm's eye grew dark for a moment.

"I am in your dept, Captain, and I want to repay you. My honor as a prince demands it. You may ask for anything that is in my power to give you. I can't promote you, however, since this is a personal issue, as I said."

Lorcan was too stunned to speak. He had come with no expectation whatsoever, and now this…

"If you have something in mind right away, tell me. If you wish to think it over, you may have time until tomorrow," the general added.

"There is something I wish for." Lorcan only realised he had spoken when he heard his own words. "Although I doubt you'd be willing to grant it."

General Whitestorm raised his fine brows. "If it is within my power, I'll grant it. You have my oath as Prince of Idris."

Lorcan felt his hands go cold and sweaty. He didn't have any intention of speaking up in the first place, but now it was too late. And if he didn't say what he wished for right now, he'd never work up the courage again. This was his only chance.

"One night with you," he murmured.

 

 To be continued...


	2. Part Two

"What?" The general's usually cool face was a mask of disbelief. "Is that a joke?"

Lorcan bit his lip. Damn! 

"No joke, Sire. You asked me what I wish for. I didn't mean to offend you."

"But why on earth would you wish for something like this?" the general asked, still looking incredulous. "I could give you an estate on the northern hills or arrange a marriage with a noble's daughter for you. You could even have my stallion, the one you helped save, one of the finest horses of the royal stables!"

Lorcan shook his head. "I thank you for your generosity, Sire. But you can keep all those things. And even if you won't grant me my wish, I declare your dept repaid nevertheless. You owe me nothing, General."

There was a long silence, and Lorcan couldn't look the other man in the eye. He expected to be thrown out any moment, even discharged from the army altogether for such an outrageous demand. What had he been thinking?

"Fine," the general said finally, his face calm and emotionless again. "As I said, you have my word, so I will grant your wish although I cannot understand your reasons. Come to the opposite side of the tent after sunset. And remember: this might not be a military issue, but if you breathe a word to anyone about this, I'll have you punished for disrespect against your commanding officer. Is that understood?"

Lorcan bowed again. "Of course, Sire. Thank you," he managed to answer somehow.

General Whitestorm turned away from him. "You are dismissed."

The captain felt weak in the knees when he exited the tent, still awed at his own brazenness and, even more, at the general's compliance. But the matter of honor was a grave one, and even if no one would ever learn that General Whitestorm had taken back his word, he himself would have known it. Lorcan couldn't help but admire General Whitestorm even more for this, although he was starting to feel like he had blackmailed the man.

He returned to his tent and poured himself some wine to calm his nerves. It was very watered down, but it helped a bit. 

Finally, Lorcan worked up the resolve to go back on his demand. He'd visit the general later, talk a bit, and then return to sleep alone in his own tent. After all, he hadn't specified the means of how they'd spend the night together, although the implication had been clear.

An hour before sunset, Lorcan took a bath in the nearby river, shaved properly and donned his most presentable civilian clothes: nice, brown pants and a green tunic with embroidered hems. He firmly reminded himself that he didn't want to impress anyone, just look proper for the visit to a prince.

According to several tavern wenches and boys in various towns, the captain was very good-looking: a tall, trained, albeit scarred body, witness to a soldier's life; a cleanly-cut, tanned face; dark-brown hair; and sharp green eyes. He was no match for General Whitestorm's aristocratic elegance, of course, but he was certainly not ugly.  
Not that this would be of any concern today. 

As soon as the sun had vanished behind the hills, Lorcan made his way through the camp. Most of the uninjured soldiers were sitting around the big fire to eat their meals, drink, and brag about their triumphs during the battle, so nobody noticed Lorcan at all. 

There was no guard at the rear side of the big tent, and the captain pulled the flap aside while clearing his throat. "Good evening, Sire."

"Good evening, Captain." General Whitestorm put down a bottle of wine he had just opened. His private tent looked like any officer's, austere and simple with a bed, a writing desk, and an armor rack. There were no satiny cushions, carpets or comfortable chairs at all, as one might expect in the quarters of a noble.

The general himself still wore the plain gray clothes, but the light of the little lamps cast a soft, warm sheen to his skin and made his hair seem to smolder like embers.

Lorcan's resolve faltered again. How could he behave properly and honorably when the object of his desire looked like this – and didn't protest at all?

But doing this solely out of duty was something completely different from wanting it, and that was the problem. Lorcan could never force the general to do something like this.

General Whitestorm poured two glasses of wine and offered one to the captain.

"To a won battle," he said. "And a won war."

Lorcan took a sip, but barely noticed the exquisite taste.

"Sire, I…"

But the general interrupted him. "Before we proceed, I'd like to know your reasons for this wish, Captain. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Under that scrutinizing gaze, Lorcan couldn't help but be honest. "I… I was fascinated by you the moment I saw you for the first time," he confessed. "My respect for you grew every time you brought us to victory. But since I came face to face with you on the battlefield that day… I don't know," he said a bit sheepishly. "I'm not good with words, Sire. But the sight you presented then… I've never seen anything more… beautiful."

General Whitestorm's eye assessed him with puzzlement in the gray depths. "Well, I was used to compliments about my looks back at court, before I became General, but I've always despised it. Praise for my leadership is something I've worked hard to earn, despite my youth. But I guess this is the strangest mix of compliments I've ever gotten."

"Everyone admires you for your leadership skills and tactics, Sire," Lorcan reminded him. "But why do you despise compliments on your looks, if I may ask?"

The general scoffed. "Because having pretty looks isn't a desired trait in a prince. Have you ever seen my older brother, Prince Cormac, or my father, the Queen's Consort? Tall, broad-shouldered, strong, and imposing, the both of them. That is why I'm even grateful for this scar." He touched his eye patch.

Lorcan began to understand. The general had tried very hard to be respected and feared for his abilities and not be judged by his seemingly delicate looks in comparison to his brother and father. And now that he had accomplished this, Lorcan had come and reminded him of that. 

"I'm sorry, Sire." The captain bowed deeply and cursed himself inwardly. "I have no idea what's gotten into me. I meant no disrespect, and with your permission, I'll leave now."

"No, you're not excused. I gave you my word, and I'll keep it. You saved my life, it is the least I can do. You've told me your reasons. I'm thankful for your honesty and faith in me, Captain, although I still fail to understand how you can refer to me as 'beautiful'."

"That scar on your face is proof of your valor, Sire. I admire all of you, and I'm sorry nobody has ever told you so. Nevertheless," Lorcan continued. "I can't do this if it's just an obligation to you."

He was surprised by a faint smile that ghosted over the general's face. "Maybe it isn't. I think it is up to you to convince me otherwise."

"Are you… are you telling me to seduce you?", Lorcan asked in disbelief.

The general didn't answer, but the enigmatic smile stayed in place for a moment longer.

Still barely believing the events of this evening, Lorcan emptied his wine glass in a swift move. That smile made him absolutely helpless and unable to resist. It was like a silent promise.

Suddenly, the captain felt the urge to see that eye, that the smile hadn't quite reached, darken with pleasure, those delicate lips beg for more. On the battlefield, the general was like a force of nature. It was almost like General Whitestorm was a completely different person from the cool and collected Prince Aileas that was now standing in front of him. If only this passion, that was normally reserved for fighting, could surface for tonight as well…

Lorcan put his glass down and took a few steps, until he was standing directly in front of the general. The other man's face once again betrayed nothing, the smile having vanished like mist. 

Slowly, the captain raised his hand to touch a cheek. It was a bit cooler than his own rapidly heating skin. He stroked the skin gently and then reached into the hair to loosen the tie that held the braid. The fiery locks were indeed as silken as he remembered.

All the while, the general watched him as if studying an unfamiliar military maneuver. Although Lorcan would have loved to kiss him, he refrained from doing so. It seemed too intimate, too emotionally charged. He would ask for that later, much later.

"Maybe we should take our clothes off, or do you prefer we keep them on?" General Whitestorm's question had the same tone as if he were inquiring if Lorcan wanted another glass of wine.

It was so strange that the general wasn't disturbed by all this in the slightest. For a moment, a thought crossed Lorcan's mind: maybe the other man was so jaded by past conquests at court that being intimate with someone was completely insignificant to him. But the captain shoved that idea away. His admired prince and general didn't seem to be the sort for mindless indulgence at all.

"I'd like us to undress," he finally answered the general's question and hoped for a reaction: modesty, shyness, coquetry, whatever. 

None came. General Whitestorm simply took a step back and started to undress. 

Unashamed of his own lust, Lorcan watched him revealing more and more white, perfect skin. The only mark aside from the missing eye was an old scar on his left upper arm, possibly from a sword strike that had been parried too slowly. All in all, the general was slender, but wiry - like a finely-made bow rather than a broad sword. 

Finally, Lorcan managed to tear his gaze away to undress himself. He felt a bit self-conscious in comparison to the other man's beauty, but then he reminded himself that the general probably saw it the other way around, in regard of Lorcan's broad shoulders and chiselled features.

It was such nonsense. Looks were deceptive as the general had proven many times before when he had defeated much stronger and bigger opponents with wit and speed rather than brute force.

The captain felt General Whitestorm's gaze on him, still cool and assessing, but his eye seemed to widen a bit at the sight of Lorcan's arousal. A blush threatened to rise in Lorcan's cheeks, and for a moment, the whole situation seemed almost absurd.

"I… I hope you find me acceptable," he finally managed to say, still feeling like a green boy about to make his first intimate experience. "As I said, I don't want you to be appalled by this in any way."

The little smile was back again for a moment. "You look fine, don't worry. And as you said yourself, scars are proof of valor." With an unconscious gesture, the general touched his eye patch. 

"You're still perfect," Lorcan blurted out, and this time he blushed for real.

At these words, an undefined emotion seemed to darken the general's good eye, but it was gone in an instant.

Suddenly Lorcan wished this reaction would last, whatever it may have been, on the other man's face, or to provoke another one. But words started to desert him, so he resorted to actions. Very gently, he pushed General Whitestorm backwards until they reached the bed. It wasn't meant for two people, but this night neither of them would get much sleep.

The general sat down. "Should I…"

But Lorcan interrupted him. "You don't have to do anything. Just lean back and… enjoy it."

"This is about your wish, Captain," the General Whitestorm reminded him. "You are the one who should enjoy this."

Lorcan smiled. "I will – if you do."

He climbed on top of the general, careful not to put any weight on him. The face beneath him was so close to his own now, wearing an expression of mild curiosity. The hair was fanned out on the white cushions and framed the beautiful, pale visage like a glowing aura. 

Lorcan needed all his willpower not to lean down and kiss those faintly rosy lips. To distract himself, he kissed the hollow of the throat instead, slowly working his way down the chest.

Maybe he was imagining it, but the skin felt a bit warmer now, and the pulse seemed to have quickened a fraction. When he looked at the general's face again, he thought he saw a faint blush gracing the cheeks – although it might have been just a trick of the light. But skin as fair as the general's easily betrayed any reaction.

Acting on impulse, he reached for the eye patch.

 

To be continued...


	3. Part Three

"No, please." Aileas' voice was faint and a bit breathless, completely different to his usual cool tone, and he himself was surprised by it the most.

Captain Lorcan's hand stopped and hovered above the eye patch. "Do you think I'll be disgusted?" he asked softly.

That was a good question. If the other man might indeed be appalled, the general would have a legitimate way out of this strange arrangement. The other question was if he really wanted a way out. He had given his word, and he was not a man to back out of a promise for any reason.

The captain took his lack of answer as permission to go on and carefully pulled off the eye patch. Aileas saw no flicker of disgust or even pity in the other man's gaze, just the strangely tender fire he had watched burning there the whole evening.

Nevertheless, he felt somehow naked and exposed now, something he hadn't felt at all when he had undressed earlier. Absolutely no one ever saw him without the eye patch.

With a soft smile, Captain Lorcan leaned down and kissed the scar where Aileas' right eye had been. His lips felt incredibly hot, and although the touch was feather-light, Aileas felt the surrounding skin tingle.

The captain pulled back to study Aileas' face again. He seemed to wait for something. Permission, perhaps?

"Go on," the general whispered. He still had no idea how he felt about this, and his mind was more confused than it had ever been. Planning battles, attacking the enemy, leading solders – those were the things Aileas knew how to do. Before he had gotten command over the entire Idrisan army, he had spent all his time learning and reading books about history and military strategies, hoping to be at least an advisor to his admired older brother. But fate had other plans, and now he could put his knowledge to actual use. 

However, on his way from a studious, scholarly youth to a celebrated war hero, Aileas hadn't found the time and energy to become an expert on intimate acts. And since his injury, he had all but excluded the very idea of anyone ever finding him attractive again. The stigma of being the pretty, girlish princeling was gone, luckily, so it had been for the best, and he hadn't spent a thought on it again. 

Until now.

Aileas' clear train of thoughts became murky as Lorcan obeyed the order and let his hands wander further down. They were rough and calloused as the general's own, but their touch was as careful and tender as it had been when the captain had calmed the injured stallion.

Still, the general tried to stay detached from the things happening to him. He just had to remind himself that this was a simple gesture of gratitude he granted Captain Lorcan, nothing more. It was just the same as giving the man a nice estate or a fine horse. 

Suddenly, Aileas drew a sharp breath as the captain's fingers ghosted from his hips to his arousal. When had he become aroused in the first place? Was his body truly this treacherous to react that swiftly to a stranger's touch?

Captain Lorcan was satisfied by this, however, his smile clearly betraying his feelings. He really seemed to stay true to his words about the general enjoying their encounter as well. It would have been far easier if the captain wouldn't pay such attention and just went about his business so this would be over soon. 

Or would it? Aileas had all but ordered Lorcan to seduce him; there was no way around it. And now, the captain was doing just that…

Once again, Aileas felt soft kisses on his neck and chest, like butterflies landing on his skin. As hot lips found a nipple, however, the feather-light sensation changed into a sharp pang of heat racing through Aileas' entire body. He shuddered involuntarily.

In the dim light, Captain Lorcan's green eyes glowed like those of a forest cat about to pounce on its prey as he looked up into Aileas' face. His mouth left the nipple only to blow cool air on the wet flesh.

Before he knew what he was doing, Aileas had arched his back and given a small moan.

"By the gods, you are so beautiful," Lorcan murmured. Oddly enough, his almost reverent tone prevented the general from feeling embarrassed at his own reaction. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that. 

But Aileas had no chance to think about this further because his – lover? – moved to the other, so-far-neglected nipple and kissed it as well. His hand, however, gently stroked Aileas' erection.

Try as he might, Aileas couldn't suppress another moan escaping his lips. Those touches felt good, and although his mind was still debating whether he wanted this, his body was very clear on that matter. For a second, the general was almost angry at this loss of control over his own flesh.

But any anger fled his thoughts the second Lorcan kissed his way down Aileas' belly to his arousal and gently engulfed it with his mouth.

Fortunately, the general did still have the presence of mind to cover his lips with his hand to muffle the cry. Undoubtedly, the soldiers outside the tent would come rushing in if they had heard him…

Eye screwed shut and gasping helplessly, Aileas grabbed the captain's hair with his free hand, not to shove him away, but to hold him in place. This sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt; it was almost as if he was melting away with pleasure like a piece of ice under the sun.

It was over far too soon. Aileas gave another muffled cry as he came, unable to keep the orgasm from washing over him. Bright stars danced before his closed eye, his body shaking with the aftermath of a sensation more intense than anything he had ever experienced before.

When he opened his eye again, he saw Captain Lorcan looking down on him. Those green eyes still shone with unfulfilled passion, but there was also a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Am I correct in guessing that you enjoyed that, Sire?" he asked, a hint of gentle teasing in his voice.

A last shred of dignity prevented Aileas from answering, but it seemed that his lover for the night knew the answer all too well already.

The captain softly brushed a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from Aileas' forehead. "May I continue?"

This time, Aileas hesitated. He knew that the other man hadn't found his release yet, the evidence of it pressing hard against Aileas' thigh. He knew enough of couplings between males to have a fairly good idea how they would proceed, since at court such pairings had been the fashion for a few years now, and the idea wasn't exactly a comfortable one.

General Whitestorm, Prince of Idris, taken by another man like a common harlot?

But did it really matter now? Captain Lorcan had already seen him at his weakest, so there wasn't much to lose anymore.

Finally, Aileas nodded. "Do… you want me to do anything? Shall I turn around?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward. It hadn't been this embarrassing before.

Lorcan shook his head. "No, I want to see your face. And maybe you could spread your legs a bit… and put your arms around me?"

This request was followed by a blush. All this time, the captain had been so confident, almost smug, but now he was embarrassed again? Oddly enough, it was a reassuring thought for Aileas. Hesitantly, he lifted his arms to put them around the other man's shoulders. The skin beneath his fingers was slick with sweat and so very warm.

It was all Lorcan seemed to have been waiting for. He quickly wet his fingers in his mouth and then carefully felt for Aileas' opening.

The sensation was weird, but not unpleasant. Aileas took deep breaths and tried to relax. This would be over soon…

A shocked whimper rang though the silence of the tent as Lorcan touched… something inside him that sent a ripple of pure fire through his whole body. It was quickly muffled, however, as Lorcan leaned down and kissed Aileas on the lips.

Such a careful and comforting, almost chaste gesture, strangely contrasting to the intimate touch between Aileas' legs, but the general was far beyond any rational thought by now. His lips parted on their own, admitting a probing tongue that soon caressed his own.

The kiss muffled another cry as Lorcan withdrew his fingers and pushed Aileas' legs further apart to slowly enter him. It hurt, but the pain was overshadowed with the sweetness of the kiss and the strange burning in Aileas' lower body. Lorcan gave him a few moments to adjust, as soon as he was fully settled, before he started a slow thrusting rhythm. Aileas' erection had returned, and his lover started to stroke it with matching, agonizing slowness. 

Time lost all its importance. Aileas had no idea how long this sweet agony dragged on until he couldn't take it any longer. Lorcan's lips swallowed another cry as Aileas succumbed to orgasm once again, this one far more intense. Breathing heavily, he clung to Lorcan as if the man was the only solid thing left in this world, feeling his lover reach the peak just seconds later with a soft groan.

As he opened his eye again, he was granted a strangely beautiful sight: Lorcan's face was a mask of bliss, his sweet smile still in place.  
"Aileas," he whispered. It was just the name, stripped bare of any titles, but it sounded more reverent than any formal addressing could have ever been. 

Almost like a prayer, Aileas thought. But he didn't get much time to think about it when Lorcan kissed him again. 

The night had just begun.

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noted the sudden switch of POVs. I'm not a fan of aimless switching, but the whole scene was far better to write from Aileas' POV ^^


	4. Part Four

Aileas woke very late the next morning. His body ached as if he had just endured a forced march through the wilderness, and he suppressed a groan as he got up from his bed to wash himself. Riding and too much sitting was out of the question today, he decided.

The promise of a whole night had indeed been fulfilled…

Aileas felt his cheeks grow warm as he remembered, and he quickly splashed cold water on his heated skin before he pulled on his eye patch. He hadn't noticed Captain Lorcan leaving, but it must have been just before dawn. If the man wasn't discreet…

No, Aileas could trust him. The general was a good judge of character, and Lorcan was a man of his word, that much was clear. No one would ever know what had occurred last night in this tent.

So all he had to do now was to forget about all this and concentrate on his command over the army. Since the peace treaty with Elatha was being signed, he could reassign most of the troops elsewhere. The borders in the north were still unsafe, and maybe the southwestern islands might want some help to get rid of their pirate problems.

Aileas dressed, broke his fast and then set out to meet with his commanders as usual. This would be an ordinary day with no difference from all the others.

But something was different.

As much as he tried, Aileas couldn't forget.

~*~

Lorcan went about his daily duties as well, but he was absolutely miserable. If he had thought his infatuation with General Whitestorm would vanish as soon as he had gotten intimate with the man, he was sorely mistaken. On the contrary, it was much worse. Lorcan knew now what he would never have again. The memory of this one night would haunt him forever in his dreams at night and distract him by day.

But, worst of all was the understanding that his own feelings ran far deeper than just admiration and lust. That night, Lorcan had seen a completely different side of the general, a side few ever knew of. Beneath that cold exterior lay a young man still unsure of himself, who couldn't allow himself to show any weakness. 

But was it weakness to submit to the most natural things in life? 

Not for Lorcan or any other man, surely, but for someone who had never experienced such things before, it must have been nothing short of terrifying.

It hadn't taken the captain very long to realize that the general had never shared a bed with anyone. That eye, dark with pleasure, had spoken of nothing but wonder and surprise, and Lorcan had been even more determined to make this experience as pleasant as possible for the other man. He was pretty sure he had succeeded in this endeavor when he remembered the writhing body beneath him and those sweet sounds he had muffled with his kisses. And the very moment Lorcan had kissed the general on the lips, he had been lost.

He loved him. And not just the valorous general or the intelligent prince. He loved Aileas, the lonely young man who had clung to him the whole night like he had been drowning.

And maybe, just maybe, Lorcan had been able to give the general something more than mere physical relief as well.

At least, he hoped so.

 

The days passed, and the war camp was broken down at last. All the commanders had been given new orders and relayed them to their captains. Lorcan's infantry unit had been assigned to the northern border. It was a harsh, frosty land, the snow never melting even during summer, and the wild tribes there hadn't agreed to a peace treaty like their Elathan allies.

For Lorcan, it was all the same. He'd fight wherever his general would send him. 

During all this time, the captain never saw General Whitestorm, and it was for the best. The less he saw the person he pined for, the less the pain. But it was a very small consolation.

 

"Captain?" 

Lorcan looked up from his writing desk at the call from one of his lieutenants. He and his unit had been freezing up north for a month now with some skirmishes against the tribesmen as the only means to keep them from curling up in their makeshift blockhouses and hibernating like bears.

"What is it?"

"Urgent message from the scouts, sir: reinforcements are on their way. It's General Whitestorm himself with some of his best men!" the soldier replied eagerly.

Although it was good news, Lorcan couldn't force himself to be happy, but he tried not to show it in front of his subordinate.

"Good. Tell the men to put up some more sleeping places. I'll clear out this house for the general until more lodgings can be built."

His lieutenant saluted and left. Lorcan sighed and got up from his desk to gather his few belongings. The blockhouses weren't much better than tents, but they all had reliable fireplaces and could be heated easily.

It didn't take the general long to arrive. That same evening, he and his men entered the camp. He had brought an entire cavalry unit, thus doubling the number of Idrisan soldiers. Now they really stood a chance against their enemies.

Lorcan waited at the center of the camp to greet his superior, trying to look calm and unaffected although his heart was thudding like mad.

The general rode on his magnificent stallion, blending in with the snowy landscape in his white fur coat. Just a few strands of red hair peeked out from under the hood.

Lorcan would never forget how impossibly silky that hair had felt.

He bowed. "Welcome, General."

"Thank you, Captain," General Whitestorm answered and dismounted from his horse. "We have brought supplies; my men will distribute them. And I wish to be informed immediately about all the details of your current situation."

"Yes, sire. If you’ll follow me," Lorcan murmured. The stable master came to take the reigns of the stallion, and the general followed the captain into the little blockhouse.

"Can I offer you some hot wine, Sire?" Lorcan still didn't look his superior in the eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the general pull off his hood… and bolt the door shut.

"Sire?" Lorcan asked in confusion.

"Why won't you look at me now?" The voice was strangely soft. "The last time we met you never took your eyes off me."

Lorcan gulped and raised his gaze to meet the general's. There was something strangely searching in the gray eye, something… waiting.

"I… I don’t think I have the right, Sire," he finally murmured and turned away. "I apologize if it seems rude. Now if you’d like to take a look at the maps…"

A slender, strong hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. "So that night… it was enough for you?" the general asked sharply. "I want an honest answer, and then we'll never speak of that matter again."

Lorcan took a deep breath. "It will never be enough, Sire, not in a thousand years. If you wish me to resign…"

"How about you just shut up, Lorcan?" the general interrupted him, and the next moment Lorcan's whole world seemed to turn upside down as his beloved leaned forward and kissed him. It was a demanding, yet tender kiss, still not really expert, but very eager. It took him some moments to finally return it with all the pent-up passion of the last weeks.

When they finally pulled away from each other, Aileas' face was a little flushed, and he was smiling. Now he looked exactly as young as he was, and Lorcan's heart was nearly overflowing with love and joy.

"And now, Captain, I want to see those maps," Aileas said. "We still have a war to win."

Lorcan just nodded, still a bit dazed. He had no idea what all this meant or where this would lead, but he would stay by his general's side forever, protect him, serve him, and love him. 

After all, there was nowhere better to be than right in the heart of the storm.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks. I hope you enjoyed reading this! And before you ask, there won't be a continuation to this story - Lorcan's and Aileas' romance will remain a one-time adventure^^

**Author's Note:**

> The motivation behind this story was to write a real smex scene and not chicken out as I usually do. Then a plot appeared, and suddenly I had a little multi-chapter story...  
> Anyway, I hope you like it!
> 
> Many thanks go to my lovely beta reader Scooby for correcting my stupid mistakes. My only sorry excuse is that I'm no native speaker.


End file.
